The Enigma Variations
by Jessa L'Rynn
Summary: Like the musical work that gives this piece its title, every story in this collection is a variation on a theme. You know the theme; what you don't know is the song. Every song can tell a story, and these are just some of the stories they tell.
1. Story 1: What Never Changes

_A/N: The Enigma Variations was a piece of music based around a single, unknown, theme. Likewise, this collection of stories have the same theme, and each story is based closely on a song. The difference is that you know the theme; what you don't know is the song. The stories can come from anywhere, have any rating, any characters, any adventure. Feel free to try to guess the song; I'll be glad to tell you if you get it. Clues are embedded in the work. Also, feel free to suggest songs. I'll be glad to try them and see what happens. _

Story 1: What Never Changes

Characters: Rose Tyler, the Doctor

Other Works: None

Time Line: S1, S2

Rated: All Ages

Disclaimer: As per usual, I still do not own Doctor Who. Yet.

**This first chapter is written in honor of the birthday of my co-conspirator, partner-in-crime, NQN co-author, fellow music lover, and general all around FANTASTIC friend, _Olfactory_Ventriloquism_. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, love. Hope you have the best day, filled with wonder and joy, one worthy of your brilliance. **

* * *

**What Never Changes**

The night was sultry, the air heavy, thick with moisture. It was high summer here on Ineffina and, the Doctor said, the middle of an immense street festival that was a lot like Mardi Gras, sans the nudity.

Jack had pouted about that, so the Doctor sent him off with directions to a specific bar. Of course, this had earned the Time Lord a lot of affectionate ribbing from the ex-Time Agent, which the Doctor survived by simply out-brazening him, right up until Rose had put her two cents in. Then, both men had blushed, for some reason. Jack's whole face went bright with color at being caught out, while a softer, some how more innocent pink graced the Doctor's ears and cheeks. Rose, the undisputed winner, once again, had scampered off to get changed.

The Doctor's sole concession to the party was the wearing of a pale blue jumper Rose had bought for him, the leather jacket still heavy over it. Rose, meanwhile, was in a flowing summer dress the TARDIS found for her, all soft pale cotton that went floaty and shimmery and cloudy in alternating waves with her every move. Her unbelievably comfortable little shoes had been selected to match, but still afforded her the ability to dance (like that would happen) and to run for her life (which was more likely).

Now, Rose and the Doctor were walking hand-in-hand through the musical, magical night. Every other time of their year, this place was a happy little town, but tonight it was all down to a single crowded street, music everywhere. There were fairy lights hanging from every awning, tree, and lamppost, and some vivid crystal powder had been scattered all over the place, so it looked like the night was below them, like the stars hung upside down.

Above the fragrances of the nearby ocean breeze, the street vendors' food carts, the perfume sellers, the crowd, there was the constant, airy fragrance that the Doctor called "illoreybi", a flower that reminded Rose of lilac and honey. As ever present as the music, it wafted through and over and around everything, permeating and somehow enriching every other smell with sweetness.

About half way down the street, they stopped to listen to a band play, some song that Rose had never heard. She asked the Doctor if he knew the catchy, beautiful tune, but he shook his head while the band played on. Rose sang along, anyway, but she couldn't even understand the words - the translation wasn't good enough for this sort of thing. She bounced on her toes enthusiastically, and managed one word in ten, and stopped to giggle, and sang some more. A soft baritone sound like the most glorious music ever graced her whimsical notes, and Rose looked up.

Her breath caught.

The Doctor was laughing. His bright blue eyes shone in the darkness and his normally haunted, tragic face was like a light. He smiled some times, a real smile that peeked through his masks. He grinned a lot, and that was his mask, in a way, a brilliant expression that fooled everyone, even him. Only rarely, so very, very rarely, did he laugh.

It was like watching a sunrise sing.

Rose clutched his hand tighter and their eyes met. His expression, the shining, the softness, it made her whole body shake, made her heart stutter in her chest. She felt like the whole world around them had been snatched entirely and taken far, far away. It was just them in a world of music and summer air. He looked at her and he laughed for her and he loved her. It was right there, gentle and obvious for her to see, for all the world to see.

The moment was too fragile and perfect and precious to disturb in any way. To see his eyes light like that, to see the ease in his body, the way the twinkling lights just seemed to orbit around him, the way he watched her like she was the only thing worth looking at, ever. He caught her other hand, tugged her close, sang along.

After a heartbeat or an eternity or an indiscriminate amount of time somewhere between those two, he moved. He didn't let go, didn't stop singing, he just moved. Slowly and all at once, and they were dancing. She laughed and he laughed, and they flung their heads back and sang. Twirled around each other like they were both born to it, a song that they had never heard still ringing through the street, movements like perfect choreography or the meeting of paired minds, the two held each other like they would never let go.

Beneath a foreign sky, so in love and so very aware of it, Rose Tyler and the Doctor danced.

* * *

Months or maybe a lifetime later, the Doctor stood in the TARDIS doorway, grinning at Rose. There was something lop-sided and precious and a little nervous about that grin, just as there was something questioning and tentative in his rich brown eyes. "Come with me?" he asked softly, holding out a hand.

Rose, never one to pass up an adventure with the Doctor, even if she never knew these days what was really on his mind anymore, took his hand without hesitation. She plastered on a smile that she hoped he would not look at too closely and, although she often worried about her place in his life these days, she stepped with confidence into a heated night of a world far, far away that he had yet to identify.

The smell hit her first, the sweet, illusive fragrance of the illoreybi flowers. Then, the music caught her ears, unknown and glorious and ever present. Then there was the crowd that swirled around them and swept them up. Rose glanced up at the Doctor, surprise not anywhere near enough to describe the wonder that swept over her.

"They say you can't go back," he murmured. "But they don't have a time machine, and I've never believed this mythical 'them', anyway."

She laughed with delight and the merry sound of his own laughter, so much more common these days, joined in. As one they charged up the street, hand-in-hand, with a million, million twinkling lights scattered around their feet. A familiar song, with words they still didn't know, skittered into their ears about half-way up the street. By unspoken agreement, they stopped and watched the band play.

Before she knew it, they were singing, and then she was in his arms, again. They were different arms, now, and maybe she was a different girl, too. She'd lost him and gained him, and learned more than he wanted her to know about him, and she'd misplaced him for five and a half hours, lost her illusions about so many things, lost her childhood friend and maybe lost her innocent faith in people she thought she loved. But he was here with her now, where they had been before, and maybe they could just let go. Everything could come back around, later. They didn't have to let the losses tie them down.

She looked up at him to ask him if he remembered, and he looked down and met her eyes and she didn't have to ask. It was there, bare and honest, for her to see as clearly as daylight.

"Dance with me?" he murmured low, and she could only nod a silent assent.

The feeling she had steeled her heart against welled up and throughout her entire being, swelling in her soul and in her eyes, and he held her close and she remembered, oh so very well, that he was her Doctor and some things never changed. His lips parted and his eyes shone and they sang along to the band, maybe one word in ten, and the rest "la, la, la, la, la."

Underneath a foreign sky, another life and a pinstriped suit, still so in love and so very, very aware of it, Rose Tyler and the Doctor, once again, danced.


	2. Story 2: Mirror, Mirror

_A/N: The Enigma Variations was a piece of music based around a single, unknown, theme. Likewise, this collection of stories have the same theme, and each story is based closely on a song. The difference is that you know the theme; what you don't know is the song. The stories can come from anywhere, have any rating, any characters, any adventure. Feel free to try to guess the song; I'll be glad to tell you if you get it. Clues are embedded in the work. Also, feel free to suggest songs. I'll be glad to try them and see what happens._

Story 2: Mirror, Mirror

Characters: The Doctor

Other Works: None

Time Line: Post-JE

Rated: Teen

Disclaimer: As per usual, I still do not own Doctor Who. Yet.

**This chapter is lovingly dedicated in memory of my friend whose birthday would be today. She encouraged my obsession for years and was one of my biggest fans. I'd like you all to read it for her, since she no longer can. Thank you.**

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**Mirror, Mirror**

The Doctor looked deep into the mirror, staring at his reflection, wondering if it was a bad thing that he found himself here so often. On the surface, he claimed that he was looking for changes, looking for signs of the promised aging that should go with the single heart tripping away quietly within his breast, reaching for eventual stillness. There was an end for him, after all, a stopping point, and in the meantime, there was happily ever after.

"Doctor," he murmured. His name, perhaps. She had let him keep it, after all, and her opinion was the only one that counted, since she knew the Doctor better than anyone had ever been allowed to do. He'd gone out of his way since then to ensure that completely.

He stared at his reflection until his vision swam, until his head felt strange, until maybe, just maybe, there was another man staring back at him. He wondered if their faces were the same, still. Never the same, probably, even if they were the same in theory. Nothing was quite the same.

"So you've gone on," he said to that other man, anyway. "Traveling the stars, seeing the Universe through the doors of a Police Box. And I'm here to stay. With the one we will always love."

He sighed. "There was a storm after you left. The morning sky went from grey to black in seconds. She believes you accidentally caused it. I think she did, her grief, the tears she wouldn't shed for either of us. Not that we deserved it then. Not that we ever will."

He put his hand up near the glass but refrained from touching it. Instead, he shook his head and wondered if the man in the mirror really held still to watch him. "We're happy here. We haven't got a house, we haven't got names. We haven't got any of the things you and I thought would make us happy. But we have each other. We're so in love everyone can see it. And we're bored. Not really with each other - there's always a new story to tell - but with everything, this day to day life. The things a domestic life expects of people in love. Maybe that's why they die so young. We never thought of it, did we? That linear time might be the culprit, this gradual wearing down, the endless sound of ticking and tocking and a single, beating heart. It never occurred to me before, but I think it may be that living an ordinary life is what kills them. That and, of course, trying not to die."

He offered a tentative smile, and maybe it was returned, or maybe he was mad, it didn't matter. "You're always right and time will probably prove you right about me, too. And maybe I'll live forever, since I can't seem to break our habit of throwing ourselves headlong into disaster. But it's not so bad. I have her."

His fingers brushed the glass, but he jerked them away again before the tandem illusions he was feeding could be scattered by proper sensory input. "You just sail away, no idea what you leave behind you. But I know now. I have your name and a face you'll wear for awhile, and I have your memories and your soul. But you're still the best of me, off running around saving the Universe. And you never wanted her to have to settle for second best. But what you are and what you were with her, that was my best, the best I could ever be, the best I ever had."

Now he touched the glass. "And you didn't want me."

He closed his dark eyes and let the moment and the illusion slip away, along with a single tear.

* * *

"Why is it," the Doctor wrote, "that I feel like I'm the one who isn't really me?" He sat alone at his desk, alone in his library, alone in the TARDIS, alone in the Universe. The letter he wrote could never be sent, could never be received, but he hadn't started it with the intention of anyone ever reading it. Rather it was to make himself feel better, about his choices, about his regrets.

Instead, he mostly remembered the girl.

"I'm here, doing what we always did, what I will always do, and I still feel like you're living my life." His desk was cluttered, with books and papers and forty kinds of writing utensils, with bits and bobs and projects that would never be finished. The detritus of ten lifetimes and then some gathered around him, but he still let nothing come between him and his paper and the mirror. It was a comfort to him in these weary hours, the illusion that he was not so alone as he made himself, that there was another man there, a specific man, the one the letter would never reach.

"I can't help but wonder what it must have felt like to go away with her into that morning. I can't help but wonder if I could have... but no. I can't even write that down, it's too hard. Any time I even think it for more than a few minutes, I want to run, run like we did before, like I did before, hiding everything inside diving headlong into disaster."

He stared into the mirror, willed the man beyond to read the words he scribbled backward in their nearly illegible handwriting. Even though he knew it was an illusion bordering on delusion, he willed it all the same.

"It's not so bad, not this time. I may be a phony, pretending to be the Doctor because there's nothing left, but there's the knowledge you exist. You'll haunt me, could be you'll haunt me forever. You, always, asking me what I wanted, when you should know, because you got it. And there's some part of me that hopes you're haunted, too."

He paused for a moment, then dashed out that last sentence, maybe not so heavily as he should do, though, if he really didn't want it read.

"This life that we love, it's boring. Saving the Universe every second Tuesday, dictators every Thursday for tea, Monday mornings with the invasion fleet of the hour, daily death threats, and the third Friday of every month, don't forget to pencil in the megalomaniac of the moment. And there's no one here to patch me up if I get hurt, no one here to stop me if I break, no one to care if I live or die or just exist, and inside... we'll just write that off as a lost cause, shall we, Doctor?"

He flinched at what he had just written, but he didn't move to retract it this time. It spawned another flurry of words, in fact, and he let them flow from his pen. "If I'm right, and I'm always right, you kept that, along with the best of me. You have her, along with everything I was ever proud of, everything I ever found truly good inside myself. She made me the best I have ever been, and I gave her you, knowing that you could live her life out with her, the life I wanted, the best I ever had. The best I never had."

He looked back at the swirls and spirals drawn so quickly across the page, black on white, the flowing symbology of their nearly dead language. Then he looked at the illusion of his insanity, and tilted his head to bid the man to read.

"You're me, only better, mortal, nearly human. And if I'm always right, then you were also right, and I made you. Out of the deepest and most secret desires of my wasted hearts. And I combined the two in you. So I'm here to stay, and alone."

He stood up, put down the pen, made to walk away, then turned back and stared at the image for quite some time, wondering how his face would look, older, wiser, stronger, loving free and open.

With resignation, he lifted the pen and wrote one last benediction. "And you didn't need me."


	3. Story 3: Beyond Repair

**For Rent**:_ 1 Author, slightly used. Includes 5000 words, usual talent, unusual option to offer prompt of your choice. Bid early and often! Link to Support Stacie! on my profile page. Notes: Slightly cracked around the edges._

**As I am a professional writer and have work to do to get paid, I have decided to deal with these thudding plot bunnies in the traditional manner - I will inflict them on others. Please visit my Profile Page for the Challenges of the Month. This month's April Challenges have been added because I finally found my round tuit. The new challenges will run through the end of April. Please let me know when you respond to a Challenge so I can read and review. I will also be linking them on my LJ in the future!**

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_A/N: The Enigma Variations was a piece of music based around a single, unknown, theme. Likewise, this collection of stories have the same theme, and each story is based closely on a song. The difference is that you know the theme; what you don't know is the song. The stories can come from anywhere, have any rating, any characters, any adventure. Feel free to try to guess the song; I'll be glad to tell you if you get it. Clues are embedded in the work. Also, feel free to suggest songs. I'll be glad to try them and see what happens._

Story 3: Beyond Repair

Characters: The Doctor and his past

Other Works: "Jack and Giles"

Time Line: The distant future

Rated: All Ages

Disclaimer: As per usual, I still do not own Doctor Who. Yet.

* * *

"Wait here," the Doctor thought about saying. He ruffled Giles' hair and knew damn well that was about as likely as ever getting the boy to stop calling him by that annoying nickname. He decided to try reverse psychology on Giles, because he'd always wondered if it would work. "Feel free to get into as much trouble as you possibly can," he said. "Break things, steal things, get kidnapped by aliens, whatever suits your fancy. And don't forget to wander off."

Giles made a face at him. "I'll probably get kidnapped by aliens whether I like it or not, Jack. Go on, do whatever you need to do. Just don't highjack the train, you'll scare the normal people."

"Don't worry," the Doctor said. "I've got a plan."

Giles rolled his eyes and tugged at his brown curls. "Now, I'm scared," he said, bluntly.

The Doctor grinned. "Catch you later," he said and, with an extra bounce on his flashy sneakers, he left his companion to, hopefully, sit very still and wait for him.

He stopped at the door between the cars, staring briefly at his reflection. He would probably never get used to this. He'd had bodies before where he doubted it, but they grew on him, mostly. This one, though...

When he'd woken up, ginger at last, in the body he expected would be his next to last, he'd actually screamed when he saw his reflection. He looked about fourteen, and that was stretching it. More like eleven, if he was feeling especially petulant.

The TARDIS had wanted to dress him in school boy's clothes, taking great pride and mechanical hilarity in presenting him with a tiny suit with knickerbockers. He'd conceded to kid's shoes - they were cool, with flashy lights in them. For the rest, he wore black cargo pants from the twenty-first century on Earth, and had reverted all the way back to Nine with his tendency to wear dark colored jumpers, although for some reason, he wore light turtle neck shirts under them. He wore a long, dark great coat, which amused him, because if Giles had ever met the real Jack, the Doctor really would never get rid of the nickname.

His face, the most alarming thing about this incarnation, was fair and delicate enough that he could have just as easily put on a dress from the right time frame, and probably no one would have been the wiser. For that reason, he kept his hair too short to make it feasible - high and tight, a decidedly military cut, but with the top left long enough to be a bit curly.

All in all, he was reasonably certain this was a ridiculous solution to the intractable problem that seemed to crop up from time to time. Still, it was one way to do something completely different from before, so in a way, his life was brilliant.

He bounded through the cars, grinning like an idiot, as he continued on his mission to go back and fix any temporal glitches he'd left behind. He simply forgot, right up until he bounded straight into her, that she would be here as well.

She smiled down at him, and he couldn't believe he'd forgotten how her eyes could stop a heart (or two, for those with more than one). As always, her face was like an angel's, pure and perfect, so very young, but ageless. Her hands reached carefully to catch him, and he fell back, landing squarely on his arse.

She was too kind to laugh, of course, although her tall, normally brooding companion had to stifle a broad grin at his predicament. He'd fallen over his own shoelaces, of course, and gotten a bit tangled in his coat.

She knelt to help him up and he forced himself to neither flinch nor throw himself into her arms. She was here, with _him_, and _he_ wouldn't understand. If _he_ got suspicious, things could get very strange. Instead of fixing one tiny paradox, he could end up generating six dozen.

Nevertheless, the Doctor made one tiny mistake as she looked him over for injury, obviously believing him to be just a random hyperactive kid (or possibly a drugged one, with the way he was smiling so dazedly at her). He looked up and met her eyes. Dark to gold and then the light caught hers and they went golden as well, and he was lost, so lost, but he never wanted to be found again, so what did it matter.

_... and I never told you, I couldn't say, I never said, I should have said, you needed just once to hear it, and if I ever fooled myself about anything, it was you. You're beautiful, you were always beautiful, I told you once and then I lied and you didn't know. So long since I touched you, so long since I held you, so long since I kissed you, yes I kissed you, you wouldn't remember..._

_Thought became dream became memory became deed and all at once they were together, far away, in some forever that never existed, holding on, touching, being. Hand in hand and face to ever-changing face, an endless dance with steps that had never been taken to notes that had never been played. A mantra that had been his constant prayer and regret for more than half his life thundered inside his head as they swayed together under stars that had never burned, across grass that had never sprouted._

_...say it, say it now, just once, say it, Doctor..._

He took a deep breath and looked away from that single, shared non-moment that would survive even him. She flinched and blinked, and then helped him to his feet, staring at him with considerable awe. He could see from her expression that she was completely confused. Even if she knew, she wouldn't know yet how it was possible.

She broke the silence. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine," he said. "Sorry I ran into you. I'll just... erm... Thanks." He turned to take off running again, stopped, turned back. "You're beautiful," he said. "I l... you're beautiful."

Her companion stepped up to her side then, sternly, hands folded across his chest. The blazing blue eyes were completely understanding, the sympathy in them almost overshadowing the rage that only the girl could temper. He glared defensively down at the Doctor and the Doctor shot him a cheeky wink. "And you're an idiot," he added, because he knew, completely, how absolutely true that statement was, how utterly indisputable.

The tall man took a step toward him, and the Doctor pivoted on his heel and darted into the next car.

A moment later, while he was looking for the paradox, he heard footsteps behind him. He looked up and saw her behind him, her dark shadow looming just inside the doorway, and smiled. "Yes?"

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm..." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm Jack," he lied. Then he winked. "Jack Tyler."

He snatched up the paradoxical device and charged past them. On his way by, he stuffed it into the dark man's coat pocket, where it would go unnoticed until it was needed to save her life.

He slowed to a walk when he knew they weren't following. Maybe he'd made a montage wreck of the time lines. Who knew? Maybe tomorrow morning, he would wake up in a different body, one he'd never had. A smile spread across his face. Maybe he would wake up beside her and the Universe could go hang itself.

As he arrived back in the first car, he shook his head. The events that had just transpired were settling back into his memory now, and the results thereof as well. Nothing. No change, not even the slightest difference. Her guardian angel there still imagined her too young, and later he would see her dead every time he looked at her, and now he was a teenage boy to her, a young child whose face promised attractiveness only when grown. Nothing would ever change it, nothing, not at all, _ever_.

He shook his head and pushed it away. Giles was actually waiting for him, for once, possibly because the - he hated to think it this way, but what choice did he have - the "other boy" couldn't find any trouble even he could get into on a train. "Next stop's ours," the Doctor told him, and reached out to snatch Giles' hand, even though he knew the boy hated it. Basically, it was all the pay back he had for the irritating nickname and Giles' tendency to mysteriously con people out of their stuff.

However, this time, Giles just took one look at his face and let him hold on. The Doctor smiled a little, or tried to, but couldn't quite manage it.

"I'm sorry," Giles said.

"It's fine," the Doctor lied. "Honest."

"All right, Jack," said Giles, with a sigh. "But I think you should know you only say that when you're lying."

"Couldja maybe stop that?" the Doctor asked.

"Eh," Giles said, as the train pulled up to the station. "Maybe," he agreed, and they got off.

The Doctor led his companion away, but not before he'd caught one last glimpse of her, him, them, laughing and walking away together, hand in hand. Giles fidgeted, but the Doctor dropped his hand and ignored him until they were gone. He stopped to watch them until they disappeared, out of sight and into the fathomless vaults of his memory. Then he turned back toward the TARDIS, back to trying to patch up his holes and find Giles' father.

This was why Time Lords didn't do this - because once they did, it never went away. It hovered over their lives, however long, however endless they might be, haunted by the memory of paths chosen and steps not taken, haunted forever. So for the rest of eternity, or until he managed to get himself killed a couple more times, he would always think of this, always miss this, always imagine this. He would always want to be with her.

He'd tried to put it aside, had planned and changed and tricked and manipulated and sacrificed. He'd kept her close but not too close and instead of holding it all at bay, it had made it something that could never be pushed behind or forgotten. He was the Doctor and everything he did was a two edged sword, except this. For her and forever, his love was pure.

But the truth was simple and plain and bitter, the same absolute truth known by the man in the leather coat who walked away with her, the man on the beach who succeeded him, the man in between them, and the man to follow. In many ways, it had become the only fact in his entire life now, and he might as well, as they all had done, face the truth.

He would never be with her.


End file.
